


forgiveness and like-minded things

by pyrality



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Making up and making out, Missing Scene, dad ratchet, lost light spoilers, paint transfers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-08 23:28:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8867551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrality/pseuds/pyrality
Summary: "It seems I can't leave you alone for even a moment," he says fondly. He reaches up from his chest to cup his hand over Rodimus' cheek, fingers along the side of his helm that hasn't been painted yet. Drift thumbs over his jaw, and his intakes stall at the tenderness of the gesture. "I missed you," he says suddenly, fiercely, "I missed the old 'Rodimus charm', I think."
  "I missed you too," he says, words so fast, crashed into each other and almost incomprehensible. "I missed you so much. Do you believe me?"
  Drift kisses him.
  It feels like coming home, and it hits Rodimus like a punch through the chest, like Drift's closed his hand around his spark.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i'm just sayin thanks for owning me james

"Don't," Rodimus says, even though he already can't stifle the giggle bubbling up from his vocalizer. "The paint will smudge."

"Don't you trust me?" Drift asks, teasing.

"Yes, but my laugh is _cute_ and contagious as a result," Rodimus proclaims, winking an optic light. "And when have you ever been able to resist my charms and wiles?"

Drift chuckles and his eyes are so, so bright, a feverish blue with teal fringe, representing excitement and pleasure. His field, unfurled and tangled in Rodimus' own for the first time in— in too long, reflects the same contentedness in its dulcet, soothing waves. He looks good, feels confident, moves with the same fluidity and grace as he remembers. Drift smiles, just barely, and Rodimus thinks, faintly, that he wants to kiss him. As soon as the thought of it leaves his head, he knows Drift must have at least sensed the interest in his field. The warrior pauses and looks up at Rodimus with a sly but fond look in his eyes.

Rodimus leans forward into the warm, grounding weight of Drift's hand on his chest. "Besides," he says, chancing this, hedging all his bets because Drift's fever-bright eyes are all he can focus on, "I can think of a _better_ way to get smudges and paint transfers."

Drift's optics flicker, and his hand twitches. Rodimus turns to counter the movement of the warrior's hand, and his paint job is saved. "Simpatico," he manages with a grin, and he tries to suppress the burst of anxiety in his field at Drift's reaction. But the mech looks up at him again and he's still smiling, warm and a little wistful.

"You balance me, same as always," Drift says, and Rodimus suddenly feels knocked off kilter.

"I'm sorry," comes tumbling out of his mouth, honest words tangled on a tongue he's mostly used to tell half-truths and lies of omission. "What I did, I know I said it before but it bears repeating." Rodimus fists his hands on top of his thighs and keeps his head up as much as he wants to look away from Drift's too bright, crystal sharp eyes. "It bears repeating as many times as you want to hear it: I'm sorry."

"Hey." Drift flicks the paint pen off, pressing his hand firmly over his Autobot badge. "Breathe, Rodi."

" _Rodi_ ," he gasps, leaning his weight into him again. He wonders if Drift can feel his spark thundering in his chest. "You haven't called me that in so long. Because I—"

"I accepted your apology," Drift reminds him, voice firm and unwavering, something grounding for Rodimus to focus on. "I'm not saying it was okay," he continues, even and poised, and Primus, Rodimus has missed him so much it aches raw and deep in his chest.

"Drift," he says, soft, full of intention and apologies. He can feel the turmoil of tangled emotions in Drift's field, regret and frustration and others, like an echo of his own field.

"And it hurt when you decided exile was the only option," the warrior says next, optics shuttering offline. "And it hurt when you didn't look for me."

And it hurts _Rodimus_ to hear every word, but it also feels relieving and freeing to hear Drift's disappointment, frustration, and anger without filter or pretense of kindness. He needs to hear this, and he's glad Drift feels he can be honest. He focuses on the still warm press of Drift's fingers against his chassis. The warrior's optics come back online to meet his, and this time they're tinged purple with both pain and relief. It feels like something releases inside of Rodimus, tension fading from the wires in his body, hydraulics hissing as he relaxes.

"Thank you," Rodimus breathes, and he smiles, strained but sincere, even at the surprise that flickers through Drift's field at his answer. "For being honest," he supplies, smile stretching. "I wanted you to. Be angry with me, I think."

"I was angry before the DJD fight too," Drift says slowly, confused.

"You didn't tell me everything you were feeling though." Rodimus reaches up and presses his hand over Drift's on his chest. They're so close that he can feel the faint heat of the other's body, can hear the quiet thrum of Drift's idle engine. He squeezes Drift's hand. "I wanted to hear you say it. I think feeling it just in your field wasn't enough."

"Absolution," he murmurs, understanding, and Rodimus nods, squeezing his hand again before letting go.

Drift is silent for a few moments, contemplative. Rodimus normally dreads silence— noise, cacophony, anything to fill the silence was preferable to him. But this is comfortable, the only audible sounds are that of his and Drift's engines rumbling quietly, and the faint chatter of the returnees and the crew in the other room. He looks at Drift, searching for answers, but the warrior's face is calm and composed, optics shuttered off again. He opens them again, finally, and he smiles and it's so warm and there's something not unlike reverence in his eyes. Rodimus' vocalizer clicks static, shoulders tensing as he draws in a shaky intake. Something playful starts to glow in Drift's optics, and a soothing flush of warmth floods through his field and into Rodimus'.

"And for a second I was worried you'd turned into a masochist while I was gone."

"Well," he laughs, short and glitched with murmurs of static. "You missed me asking Optimus to yell at me."

"It seems I can't leave you alone for even a moment," he says fondly. He reaches up from his chest to cup his hand over Rodimus' cheek, fingers along the side of his helm that hasn't been painted yet. Drift thumbs over his jaw, and his intakes stall at the tenderness of the gesture. "I missed you," he says suddenly, fiercely, "I missed the old 'Rodimus charm', I think."

"I missed you too," he says, words so fast, crashed into each other and almost incomprehensible. "I missed you so much. Do you believe me?"

Drift kisses him.

It feels like coming _home_ , and it hits Rodimus like a punch through the chest, like Drift's closed his hand around his spark. The warrior kisses like a promise, fingers desperately scrabbling against Rodimus' cheek as he tilts his head to kiss him. Their fields push and pull against each other, melding perfectly in sync, and Rodimus thinks as his optics shutter offline, that he'll never let Drift go again. They pull closer to each other, and Drift's chest collides with his chassis, sending a ripple of charge sparking between their armor. Both their fans click on and when Rodimus nips at his mouth, Drift revvs his engine loudly, challenging and suggestive and wanting all at once. Rodimus grins into the kiss, feels Drift do the same. He teases his glossa over Drift's mouth, and hums when Drift opens his mouth in response. Rodimus can feel the low rumble of his engine when they're pressed together like this, and it's a comforting, familiar feeling. He loses himself a little in this, dazed by the perfect echoes of their fields pulsing against each other's, feedback so in sync it's hard to distinguish where their fields begin and end.

Drift finally pulls away, and Rodimus chases him, leans forward to press one last kiss to his mouth before he sits back. Drift smiles, a fond and reverent look in his optics when he speaks again.

"I think maybe I'll take you up on that offer of paint transfers later, Captain," he says in a private and soft voice, intimate rather than suggestive like his words would indicate.

Rodimus' eyes spark bright, flaring with excess charge, and Drift grins, smug at the sight. He opens his mouth to retort something, grinning despite himself.

"Rodimus? Drift?"

The two jolt at the sound of a certain medic's voice. Rodimus cranes his neck around in the chair to, sure enough, see Ratchet in the doorway. He's staring at them, surprised for a moment before his expressions shift rapidly from frustration to exasperation to resignation. He presses a hand to his forehelm, sighing.

"I was wondering where you two had snuck off to, and I come here to find you two being nothing short of _indecent_."

They turn back to look at each other and at Rodimus' staring, Drift cycles his optics as he reaches up to touch the side of his face. It's wet with the co-captain's new blue and purple helm paint. Rodimus laughs when he realizes Drift's cheek paint is smudged, so he must be wearing some of Drift's black and red paint on his face too.

"I was helping with his paint job," Drift says innocently.

"Oh, and I'm sure that required facial contact and whatnot," Ratchet says with a short, dry, and disapproving voice.

"What, are you like his— what's that _Earth_ term— his  _dad_ now?" Rodimus demands, turning around his seat. He flashes a playful grin at the doctor, who is affronted by his question, blustering slightly.

"Don't be ridiculous. I have no time for kids or fools, much less _both_."

"And yet," Rodimus starts.

"You still came back for us, a group of fools you claim not to suffer gladly," Drift finishes.

Ratchet throws up his hands in an exasperated display. "Yes, yes, we've established this. Stupidity is contagious and apparently, I've caught the bug because despite the headache, I can't leave you kids alone knowing you all would muck _something_ up eventually."

His words are harsh, but they can both read the fondness underneath. Their grins at him are answer enough and the doctor groans before turning on the heel of his foot. "Clean up before you meet the returnees." He leaves with the door slamming shut behind him, and Drift and Rodimus both burst into laughter.

Drift's leaning close to him again, and Rodimus wraps a hand around his neck to tug him closer.

"I'll never leave you again, you know," the warrior says as he presses his forehelm's to Rodimus' own, no longer caring about the mess of paint.

"I wouldn't let you go," he replies, breathless.

Rodimus thinks, faintly, he'll have to figure out how to get on Ratchet's good side if he wants the doctor's approval if he's going to start courting Drift properly for Conjunx Ritus.

But that will have to wait for later, he decides, as Drift leans in to kiss him and he meets him halfway.


End file.
